


Scrutiny

by Prar



Category: Rockman Zero | Mega Man Zero, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 06:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prar/pseuds/Prar
Summary: Belated gift for my lovely Dids. Victorian AU, XHarpuia, Slowburn, Slowbuild."In retrospect, had the season been different, maybe he'd be faster to immerse himself in the house's quiet charm. Take a while to appreciate the garden work. The small interiors. Got to know more people, more intimately.So much wasted potential - a real shame, he thinks, ever so efficient, as the blood pools around his face in the dust."Harpuia is employed by the head of a leading weapon provider in the country.





	Scrutiny

Harpuia begins his service in New Arcadia in the midst of winter - an individual gentlemanly and economical down to the way he ties his shoelaces. Becoming an Employer's second valet and primary in-house servant and overseer, he strides into the building and promptly weaves himself into its inner workings - curt, task-oriented and no-nonsense. He takes pride in the cleanliness of his writing and quickness of his calculations... Also how he keeps the shaving blades in perfect day-to-day condition.

He doesn't really take pride of the establishment itself, nor it's other inhabitants. They are merely a means to an end, must like the other Houses and Units he'd attended in over his time in public and private service alike.

In retrospect, had the season been different, maybe he'd be faster to immerse himself in it's quiet charm. Take a while to appreciate the garden work. The small interiors. Got to know more people, more intimately.

So much wasted potential - a real shame, he thinks, ever so efficient, as the blood pools around his face in the dust.

* * *

The Lord is a curious individual. And since he sends his other valet primarily as an envoy and speaker around areas further away from the country, Harpuia rapidly becomes the one most acquainted with that... curiosity.

The man signs half his documents with a simple X - a pen name, as he explains to him warmly. He's a writer, doctor and philosopher, heavily engaged in the local intellectual communities he'd inserted himself into back in his University days. The youngest son of a prestigious family of groundbreaking thinkers and idealists, he has both the resources and renown to visibly shape the world around him, and it seems that despite a pedigree of such caliber, he's a practitioner of genuine chivalry as well.

It's just, he tells Harpuia all of this, in snips and quips and small airy comedy, and he figures out the rest through the nights spent by the abacus or through the echoes of conversations around the manor.

But they also sell arms as their primary source of income.

It's to protect the country - Harpuia figures out, observing the Lord looking over and signing a batch of documents. The handwriting on them is done in a manner so smooth it distracts him from his valeting duty, and he finds himself pausing in the carefully pre-calculated dusting of his liege's traveling coat to watch him skate over the soft paper in a triple arc.

"I prefer signing with just 'X'" The man laughs as he notices him staring. "It's faster and more convenient."

Harpuia recoils coolly and instantly turns back to his duty. Yes - he thinks intensely to himself, trying to make up for the mistake - he sells to arm the nation and help preserve peace. His words are encouraging, but you can never be too trusting. A war can only be avoided if the nations can prevent themselves from being violated, and to that end...

The man behind the desk sighs quietly and shifts in his seat. When Harpuia chances a look at him again, he has his chin propped up on twined hands, his gaze clouded.

He seems discontent. It makes Harpuia uneasy, just for a little bit. Incentivized to shake the mood a little, he presents his Lord with the garments he's picked out for him. "Master."

His employer rises from his seat and sighs deeply, before giving him a smile. "Let's go."

* * *

His Liege hates violence.

It shows in the crinkle of their brow whenever it gets brought up during the shaving. The change is barely perceptible, but Harpuia is so close he can see through the politeness. At first he'd figured out he was just stressed about the big deals and all involved risks. But this is the same face he makes when he hears morning news of petty thuggery in town, events that cannot possibly affect his life personally.

Empathy.

Methodically chipping away at what little shadow there is at the curve of his jaw, he observes the warmth of fatigue in Master's face. His similarly outfitted counterpart stands at the door with the briefcases as a swarm of servants buzzes to and fro behind his back. The biggest deal of the year is meant to be made one day of cobbled road away, deep in the posh and luxury of the capital - and it has to be perfect.

Yet it gets treated almost like a bad thing. In his Employer's eyes, at least.

Of course, he is still going, but this is where his kindness and outgoing fade away to a lonely thoughtfulness. As the valet brushes a soft cloth about his face and makes sure the sideburns are evenly cut, he closes his eyes and lets him tilt him left and right by the chin. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how much time you're saving me."

Harpuia nods, but aside from the prideful twinge scoffs a little inside. This is his duty, after all. It's only natural to be optimal in a high-profile establishment like this.

His Employer rises from the chair after he is done examining his reflection, and he taps his feet a little on the lacquered floors to get the blood going before straightening out. "Well, then. I suppose we've still time before the stable masters get the animals in the harnesses. Would you entertain me to light exercise in the gardens?"

They both express their agreements, but when Master dons the cape and locks the cane onto his elbow, the young housemaid appears at their door and silently expresses an urgent matter that necessitates the skill repertoire of the valet at the door. The inky-haired gentleman excuses himself with permission as the Master is left wrinkling his nose. "It can't be helped." He admits, stepping onto the corridor in their wake. The servants part before him like Biblical waters. "I understand the timing is just awful, but I really hoped to let the three of us keep arthritis away together."

It ends up being just the two of them, and Harpuia observes his pocket watch carefully as the man points out all of the different fields where he'd arranged for herbs or flowers starting this February. He states their purposes and uses with an excitement that makes it seem he'd rather be a botanist - a calm warmth that Harpuia isn't sure he should be privy to, but nonetheless is.

* * *

He's elbows deep in calculus when the head chef knocks on his doors - a tanned and muscular man whose rough skin is permeated with the scent of meat and dough.

Pulling his gaze away from the stock and the spread, he's surprised to find that the smell is in this case literal - there is a plate of fine fattened food layered next to each other with some warm bread.

"You've been at it for half the day." The head chief informs him with a toothy grin, pointing at the clock in the corner of the study. "M'lord told me to 'provide appropriate nourishment.'"

They're kind. He's kind. It's so... unproblematic. Harpuia sets aside the papers as he feels the throb deep in his stomach and rises to his feet- nods at the cook with visible gratitude. "If you say so. Please tell him I should be done by tomorrow."

The foreigner grunts an affirmative, before handing him the meal. As the valet turns away to his table, he hears him speak once more "The Head Maid's been wondering if she can rearrange your room soon. She'd been hounding at it for some days now, but you're a busy fellow and she hadn't had the chance to lay the plan with you."

They're also spoiled, and the longer he's in their company the longer they think they can fraternize themselves with him. But Harpuia is hungry and the aromatic dish was given to him by these very hands and maybe, just maybe, he's a little too tired to be condescending.

"Truthfully, I find it serviceable just the way she'd prepared it for me." He says carefully, and the cook nods knowingly before closing the door and leaving him in the dim.

* * *

She's incessant. Insists that the drapes are in dire need of washing and that the table doesn't allow for as much light as it could've.

As he hands the older valet the completed budget for this month, his hand leaves the soft leather of the briefcase and is instantly filled with the warm hand of the spirited young woman. "Come, Sir. I've arranged for some pottery to be placed-"

"-you mad?" He hears his own voice, so incredulous that he loses his composure. She's surprised. He's surprised. "Have you no idea how uncouth this behavior is? I understand you are highly prominent and as such hate to be negative with this situation but-"

They both stop. The woman turns on her heel, but doesn't let go of his hand. She stares at him with a now guarded smile - he notices her hair is in a disarray, falling in dark streaks about her face. Her eyes are shining.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

* * *

_It's just, at this point, most of the other staff in your position had already left. I thought..._

The Master looks at him from above a set of folded fingers.

"This wasn't included in the agreement." Harpuia repeats diligently, trying not to feel like a fool. This is kindness, but they are far too excited in his presence. This is something he'd avoided his entire life, molded himself to not do to keep up an image of good manners. This is England, not southern Europe or America. Proper conduit is synonymous with social standing and therefore a stable income and security. In a normal House, this behavior could get you fired, and- and-

"I apologize."

Never had _anyone_ who hired him said that to him.

The bright-eyed man mulls over his complaints for a while and begins to carefully concocte an apology and explanation. "It's a new social technique," he says, but his forehead crinkles and Harpuia knows that's not the whole truth to it. It's meant to increase effectiveness and loyalty of the staff while encouraging putting the mistakes and mismanagement into the light of his judgment and ability to improve things. Aside from seeming off-putting at first glance and kept partially under wraps due to the culture they live within and other values they need to uphold due to their heritage, there aren't that many drawbacks.

"You'd agree that it seems like a good way to go about daily routines in good spirits, no? Does it displease you? Or is it simply too much, too soon? After all, you've been working within the rule set for many years."

"I'm fine." Harpuia says, with mixed feelings. He looks over the Master's head towards the first leaves of spring shifting in the phantom winds to escape from that kind, concerned gaze. "I am simply... I, I am indeed unused to this type of behavior. I value my calm and- necessitate it to work optimally. Please understand. I simply wish to do my job well."

Soon after that, he retreats into the gardens to catch his breath. None of the staff seem to bother him anymore, and he is glad.

He is okay. Unruffled. Fiddling with his buttons and shrugging off nonexistent specks of dust off of his getup. He straightens out and breathes, and thinks, and mulls. Not soon after the cold bites into his bones, though, he is summoned back into his duties.

Still nobody ruffles at him.

* * *

Maybe he'd established this system because of his idealistic streak.

The staff is keeping its distance from him and his work spins underneath his fingers like a silky web. Everything is connected - falling into place and creating a framework for further advances, navigable and safe and reliable. The cornerstones of future prosperity and current easy upkeep are being laid out by him one by one, in the methodical movements of his fingers or the scratch of his pen against the pages. He stops only to rub at his tired eyes, but the pride in his craft makes him continue working nonetheless.

* * *

Maybe he'd established it because he's a bit lonely.

The quaint chat hushes to a halt as Harpuia passes by the doors. He blinks as the chamber maids turn to acknowledge him, layers of soft blankets stuffed into their arms. Their faces are flushed with shared mirth, the corners of their mouths twitching, but they stay quiet as a pair of mice until he's down the next hallway - at which point the tinkling laugh catches him turning a corner.

He's been out in town for most of his day, the ends of his coat trailing drops of rainwater every step of the way. The cold had bitten at his feet as he'd methodically went through his errands in the humid pre-spring, and now it echoes along his bones and droops at his eyelids. He wants to report and rest a little before any evening work that might still await him. He'd missed tea and dinner as it is - underestimated the amount of physical exercise he actually had to go through with in this temperature.

A long winded sigh leaves him as he softly announces his presence at the doors of his Employer - the door opens, and he begins explaining his-

The Master is sitting by his desk with a warm drink and pie, with the Housemaid and Cook getting ready to leave the room. They're all talking pleasantly amidst themselves, but when they turn to leave - they see him - their expressions shift. Ever the obedient bunch, they go through the motions and then worm their way past him, leaving only his double and the Master at the table to stare - the man elegantly shuffles a deck of playing cards in his hands, puts it away into a drawer and smiles at him.

"You've made it just in time. Thank you so much for your hard work..."

* * *

He spends the next week bedridden with illness, much to his chagrin. His eyes sting and his muscles protest movement. Between meals and long hours of uneasy sleep there is little to do but lay there and quietly calculate how much time he's wasting. He can't even ramble - the voice had been stolen with the cold.

Confined to a different set of senses, Harpuia lets his mind wander quietly - from the quiet hallways of establishments past to the long hours spent on outposts in the mist and rain, sipping on rationed coffee and reciting Homer to his fellow compatriots. _Harpy, Harpuia_, they call to him, and the camaraderie warms his insides even as the cold rain pours over his face.

The faces of his coworkers and the faces of the household inhabitants stand out to him as he listens in on the growing disquiet behind the doors - his absence evidently drawing out the coos from the cuckoos. As he dozes off, he hears of their daily tales, and as he becomes privy to their dismays he cannot help but frown. This is... Had he'd been wrong?

The faces of those in Master's room. They weren't angry or snide. They weren't triumphant. They were just... Concerned.

The servant sighs, before hacking away at the disturbing entities in his respiratory system. Gross. As he ponders about his sorry state and hears the soft steps of mild-mannered and amiable staff outside, he begins to spin a hypothesis that he is a fool, an obstructing wrench in the works of someone much smarter than him.

He'd jumped to a conclusion without seeing his superior's hypothesis through to the end.

He falls asleep a short while later, curling himself into the blankets. In the morning, there is a warm breakfast set up on his bedside table.

* * *

"Master, I've a question."

His Employer is so surprised that his quick arc goes out of line. They both stare at the uneven line across the paper in silence.

Harpuia feels the heat flash across his entire body and takes a deep breath, gesturing out with an apology- anything to say to placate the situation, any-

The raised hand of his Master shushes him politely, and the man himself turns to him slowly, staring at him intently.

"What is it?" He asks, and his voice is as welcoming as always. He puts his hand on the ruined letter and pushes it away without looking away, like a slightly more economic handwave. Harpuia stares at the deep azure of the handwriting as it is abandoned, trying to recollect his thoughts- ah.

"How come your household addresses you as X?"

Master blinks. Harpuia feels a second heat pang - he is really not used to this. This is so unbecoming-

"I- pardon me." His teeth are itching to dig into his lip and not speak, forget about this, this is _not_ his place and yet-

"I happened to overhear the household talk and... And it strikes me as peculiar - in the English vocabulary the letter finds itself numerous applications and readings, yet only when it is combined with other letters to form coherent meanings and," and he's rambling, "in mathematics, there are always signs of multiplication, yet they are not the letter itself, but a symbol resembling it closely. The only other meaning I have in mind, aside from dipping into the algebra, is some sort of an anonymity stunt, but making one's identity out of a lack of identity itself is-" Oh.

Harpuia stops for two reasons. The first is his sudden and intriguing observation. The second is the Master's hand, which has gestured at him triumphantly the moment 'algebra' has left his mouth.

"Infinite potential."

"Inf- oh." Double oh. Overwhelming oh. Now he gets it. With that knowledge comes recollection, and with that recollection comes shame. Embarrassed, Harpuia draws back and hopes against all hope that this flustered thrumming of his heart isn't showing on his face. He'd tried. He's done his best. "So then..."

"It represents my potential as a writer, as a thinker. It indeed also conceals my identity, as pen names are prone to do." Master is looking at him even more intently, but as he stares, a crease forms between his brows. He abruptly leans away, back into his chair and looks away, with the smile staying strong on his face.

Harpuia has more room to breathe now.

"I apologize for scaring you!" The man laughs. "I am just so glad that you have taken an interest in this. It's something I admit I've spent my fair share of nights working on. A perfect pen name - rich in meaning, easy on the tongue, bright in memory and valuable in the heart of its wielder. Making something like it is no easy feat."

"That, and... Oh, but now you'll think I make the staff use it out of vanity."

"It _is_ your household." Harpuia mentions quietly, seeing nothing wrong with the idea. The Employer shakes his head though, and reaches for another clean page of paper, dipping the quill in liquid azure and issuing a number at the top.

"It _is_ my household, and this is exactly why I would like it to be the opposite of vain with it. The pen name puts people at ease. It fosters a bond between them and me when my proper title would prevent them from doing so. It..." He pauses, the nib hovering above the page. "It diverts the attention of onlookers. And I respond to it as if it were my own. It's just too convenient, isn't it?"

Harpuia thinks about his own nickname, and says nothing.

"Well, there you have it." The man finishes, and triumphantly paints the letter down onto the bottom of his statement.

They remain quiet throughout most of their proceedings. Harpuia tries to, he really does, but - it seems he's overwhelmed, for now. He can't say it. He wants to say it, but...

_Master X_, he thinks, yet his lips remain pursed.

"You don't need to force yourself." Comes in as if on cue, and the man looks up to find X raising from his chair with an envelope in hand. He's looking at him carefully. "I understand what you're doing well enough. With all my heart, thank you."

* * *

The housekeeper is looking at him expectantly from the doorway. Harpuia puts down his notes and look back at her.

The window curtains flutter. A horde of maids runs past the doorway anxiously, reading themselves for the noon shift. The sun is shining, and the birds are singing.

They glare.

Without breaking eye contact, the head maid waves a commanding hand towards what shortly turns out to be a set of furniture. Sturdy and new, it floats threateningly in the arms of heavy duty workers - five strong and ready for express work. As Harpuia puts his hands firmly onto the table and raises to politely disagree, he's perfectly content with his slightly eye-straining setup and he-

They lift him up with his chair.

He is expertly carried out of the room - a cacophony of tumbling and scraping and shifting bouncing off of the study walls behind him within seconds - and he wordlessly witnesses the Housekeeper dive in to take things into her own hands, leaving a very embarrassed X standing in her wake.

They share a look.

"You told her." Harpuia states the fact.

"I _told_ her, yes- I didn't ask her to _instigate_-" A stack of neatly folded documents is abruptly settled into Harpuia's arms from behind, diverting the man's attention as he rapidly sifts through the disarray of sheets to confirm they're all there - and not damaged. Once he's done, the valet refolds the paper and sighs. X shuffles guiltily, and then excuses himself with a promise of an apology treat - something that completely flies over the head of his retainer until after he's gone.

* * *

The staff doesn't engage him in any meaningful way for a while afterwards, except for a few winks and laughs from the... Lady... Yes, from the Lady. It is, almost as if he were less a man and more an animal accommodating to a new set of surroundings, and it causes him to inaudibly groan until he is summoned to the main office for a briefing.

The briefing is, to Harpuia, primarily a valuable time for when he can see with his Master eye to eye and honestly and quickly present any given problems within the manor with an almost immediate response and appropriate sets of approvals.

To Master X it seems to be primarily a chance to share some of his imported coffee and inquire into Harpuia's well-being. And though he still prefers to stand attentively at his Employer's side and tread the safe paths of routine etiquette, Harpuia finds himself a little bit less overwhelmed and more receptive.

Gradually, the side of X that is an enthusiastic, educated column writer and consumer of knowledge becomes more apparent to him. There is a certain quaintness that envelops the two of them when X starts using that more heartfelt tone in conversation - like the chess evening he'd intruded upon, but somewhat more cerebral. The valet shortly hypotheses that this is what it feels like to be pen-pals with him, though the actual ratio of talking is very uneven between them.

As X weaves on about his latest paper into the fragile porcelain cup, Harpuia takes mental notes and incorporates the knowledge into his head. Might be useful, if only to hook a conversation later on.

"...Which concludes my argument that the current trend of increasing demand on electric power will result in some major breakthroughs over the next two or three decades." The steam curls around X's face and gently dissipates into thin air. He sets it down triumphantly, "That means that if we can foresee and take advantage of these patents as they come, we may come out of the mess with an additional surge to propel the business forward."

Harpuia nods to himself, and for a moment, they rest in the aura of intellectual victory. X breathes out something about shifting income sources, and then spins in his chair to give his valet a big, optimistic look.

Harpuia tries answer to the gesture, but there is no answer to that in the house proceedings, so he absorbs the interest and hope in X's eyes silently. They are gray, but at present, a trick of light paints them an azure green... amongst other things.

"...about yourself?"

Gray eyes are difficult to categorize.

"Huh?" The look in his Employer's eyes is more attentive now, and Harpuia blinks rapidly as he realizes he's in the focus now. "Yes?"

X is amused. "Do you entertain the idea? What are your thoughts? Maybe you want to share something from yourself? Or about yourself, instead?" It's your turn, he indicates with his body language.

Harpuia compiles his mental notes, fingers rising to tap his nose thoughtfully. Different schematics and some potential problems do sound interesting enough to elaborate on, but then, from the back of his head, a different thought pushes against them - something he'd clamped his mouth shut on the first time they've had this kind of conversation.

"Should we-"

"I think I will ponder this subject a little bit more until our next meeting." The valet states, then raises a stopping hand as X begins turning back to his papers knowingly. This isn't him being shy of the conversation. "Ah, wait- Master X."

As he's regarded carefully, he man falters, unsure on how to breach the subject in an official matter. Well, this is a pretty unofficial matter. However, he feels it was formally earned, and...

Well, if one tells you to address them by their moniker or a pen name, and you regard yourself primarily with your own...

" I... Are you familiar with the body of work penned by Homer?..." 

* * *

"Harpuia."

There is a certain amount of razor sharp precision necessary to properly wield razors. Especially if said razor is being drawn across the face of one of the major nobles in the country. Especially if the noble is meant to attend a meeting with the heads of associated families in the market.

"Har-pu-ia."

"Master X. I highly suggest not speaking at the moment." The sounds halt and the valet can finally shave around X's lips without cutting them off. However, the mischievous glint in his Master's eyes means that this silence is only temporary.

Harpuia wonders if he regrets sharing this bit about himself now. Deep down, it's associated with a rainy afternoon and wet wool and mud and grass and a sense of deep, enveloping peace that can turn into a rush of adrenaline at a moment's notice. A pair of foggy spectacles and the soft dry pages of a yellowed booklet in his palms. Familiar voices calling him, those he'd unwittingly befriended during his services to the homeland.

Now it's a residence warming in the spring sun, the open windows and polished panes and anxious maids and the smell of lavender. The man before him and that quiet scribbling he does every day.

Harpuia doesn't necessarily want his past overtaken. But the way X says it is just too kind - makes him waver a bit out of embarrassment. Not a good thing while attending an employer.

Wiping away the rest of the foam from X's face, Harpuia wishes he could get rid of the growing smile there as well.

"It just has such a nice ring to it." Comes the reply. "Many other household members have their own names as well and yours-"

The doors to the room open and X's face falls into a mask of amiable professionalism "-fits right into the general structure. It's just very convenient and interesting to speculate on." He turns his face to the doors, checking the identity of the visitor, before nodding his head at the older valet and relaxing. "Phantom."

"You're both late." The man is clad in his finest, an open watch in one hand. He closes it and looks at the two of them skeptically. "I presume you've packed already?"

"All necessary preparations were completed. We are just wrapping up." Replies Harpuia coolly, smoothing his hands down the elaborate spring coat hung next to the shaving chair. After X is appropriately donned and equipped for the journey, he puts away the shaving tackle and regards the room one final time.

X sighs. "Let's go."

He's been pretty clearly looking forward to this trip, but now that it's happening, it seems almost like it's distracting him. Harpuia tries to figure out why, and fails. Wasn't he meant to meet his friends there? A ground of people of equal status, yet mostly just a tad underneath him on the ladder, making him-

"Harpuia."

He's practically startled out of his thoughts by that. X is looking at him expectantly from the doorway, with the other valet peering at him from behind, baggage in hands.

"Please take care of things while I'm gone, and watch out for yourself." He sounds so serious, even though he's the one leaving. "All right?"

"Of course, Master." It's what he's paid and depended on, first and foremost, after all.

X lingers on him for a moment still, and then heads away for the grand meeting, a full entourage at his back. Harpuia hears them open the doors and spill out onto the courtyard, soon driving away towards the main road and tipping off a point on his mental checklist.

He rolls his shoulders and stretches out his back. The weather is gloomy, but shouldn't last. The in-house operations are to proceed as normally, he doesn't have to tail his Employer seventy percent of the time. The biggest problem would be securing the delicate budding flowers in the unpredictable weather, and he's ready to work on that.

It's so quiet. The smell of rain wafts in from the unlocked windows, driving away the still scent of the study.

* * *

A few hours later, he realizes that Phantom now knows his other name, while he knows his. It also means that when they're back, the entire household will eventually run up to date on that.

* * *

X is away for two weeks, and when he returns, he is not happy.

"The sales are going up steadily." Harpuia mentions carefully, observing the murky darkness of his eyes. "Your alliances are strong. Some more large investments incoming, but the risk is manageable... um..."

The coffee is cold, so he pours another cup and takes the old one for himself. It's not very professional, but X wouldn't usually waste it and he doesn't want him to now.

"Friends... getting... married?"

"Glad for them." X replies dryly, but his brows twitch and Harpuia can guess he actually is glad for them. Maybe.

"I'm just surprised that the company head wouldn't be happy that everything he's worked so hard for and spends every day up keeping in a pristine condition is paying off. Paying off, as expected, from the probability and correlation charts."

"Ah-" X stops his scribbling. "But, I am happy."

"Is this not enough, then?" Harpuia sips at the cold brew across of him thoughtfully. "Do you perceive this success as too small compared to your personal expectations?"

"No, not at all. I'm not so conceited as to think the figures would exceed your estimations."

Harpuia doesn't say anything to that, flattered yet left with no leads.

They sit there in silence, X writing out about three official letters at once. The format is filled out evenly, and as he works, the hard edges in X's face give away to a permeating tiredness. He stamps the letters shut and pushes them over as they cool, freeing up enough space to plant his elbows on top.

"I think I might have caught a cold." He says numbly, rubbing his brows. "The routine should fix me up soon."

Harpuia wants to touch on the slow shift of that, but doesn't. Instead, he just makes sure the coffee is about as hot as two minutes prior. It is.

Maybe he could ask- Oh, but he'd already received an answer.

* * *

Harpuia watches as X personally tends to the bulbs, sifting through the soil carefully before removing a handful and throwing them into a sack.

"Dead?"

"Ill, almost half of them." Harpuia wonders if it's the weather's fault... Or his fault that it's the weather's fault. "- anomaly was pretty bad. Don't worry about it, just gives me more opportunity to work here."

Still not convinced, the valet gives the area a once-over and stops when he catches Leviathan peering in from one of the doorways, partially hidden by the first spring leaves. She notices that he noticed - he waits for some nonverbal remark on her part, of how they're wasting the day up on the field or how Harpuia should probably be inside overseeing the evening ceremonials.

But she just stares and leaves, leaving him to turn uneasily back to his Master.

"I was looking towards these blooming very much... Thankfully, there's plenty left for us. You've done a good job." X's jacket is on the grass, the man's sleeves folded up neatly as he digs his fingers into the soil. He fishes out a fragile, muddy Liatris and straightens out to observe it carefully. "I can't really imagine what the garden would look like without you after this freeze."

Harpuia's eyes are glued to the sack at his side, filled with the crippled gayfeathers. As X reaches for it again, he finally snaps and drops down onto his haunches. "I'll help you." He mumbles out, yanking his attire up and snatching the bag to hold it in better reach.

His free hand digs into the soil, searching for the texture of a sick bud. There are way too many of them already, and it's going to be more. X is simply being optimistic for his sake. This garden was a personal emotional investment and he'd failed to secure it enough, held too far back on the isolation of the frames... quality of the materials.

It's been so long ago since he'd last heard about this garden. Maybe he was too blind to notice how much X actually cared about it, stubborn or otherwise. Now the man is smiling, right at work - the exalted enterprise master crawling on his knees over a bunch of his dying flowers.

"Thanks."

His thanks are so warm and genuine. As they work away in the cold, he reckons he really doesn't deserve them.

The discarded bulbs are later found set up carefully around his room, a dozen or so surviving their precarious condition to leave X speechless on one cough-punctured trip around the manor halls.

* * *

Maybe he'd set this system up because he's lonely?

Handing the man a tray of biscuits and coffee, Harpuia leans in to take the worn encyclopedia out of his hands and sink into the chair next to him. Setting the curve of his jaw into his palm, he observes X's eyes droop softly. The man is exhausted, but will not sleep.

He'd spend the entire prior week being... needy. Negative connotations aside, you had the man requiring near-constant attention unrelated to his immediate and long term physical condition. A more intimate type of satisfaction, based on the company and attention of others. A need for a reassuring presence, the lack of which sent X into a sickness-induced confusion.

As the one tied up into the garden incident which affected X's health negatively, Harpuia isn't at all surprised when he is selected to take the brunt of taking care of him at almost all times and catering to his wishes. However, the openness X displays while stuck under a mountain of blankets leaves him wondering.

He seems lonely. Incredibly so. It's not apparent at first glance, but the way X coordinates Harpuia throughout the day. The way he micromanages their time together. The key moments in which the illness makes him stutter and slip in whatever he's arranging.

It seems like he is trying to lengthen the time they spend together. After all, nobody with a massive enterprise and health on the line would insist to read a mere encyclopedia so late into the night. Unless they had some goal in mind. Or... well. Once more, sickness-induced confusion.

But it happens with the other household members as well. The way he would feebly sit down in the kitchens to listen to Fefnir. How he sends Phantom out to do most of the errands and overlook proper conduct, but also drag out their briefings. X is reaching out to people so much despite of his condition implying the need to do otherwise. Something he should know, and... After the garden incident, he... The evidence...

Maybe Harpuia is over thinking it. Maybe X is just working on his schedule and wants to raise morale despite the sudden shift of circumstances. There is much he doesn't know about.

He opens his eyes. The atmosphere in the room is so quiet and dim, he'd closed them. The lamp is hidden between freshly cut flowers, the light inside broken up by the curvature of the glass. The smell of wood and pages and leather all tangle up in his brain soothingly. X is facing him, focusing on him with a pair of dark eyes.

Maybe he should just ask him.

But it feels too simple, so simple that it's actually awkward. Like that time they'd first tried to have a casual conversation. Harpuia halts with the words stuck in his throat, and swallows soundly.

His employer gives him a very strange stare. It seems pained.

"I'm sorry for keeping you up so late." He croaks out softly, before turning his face away slowly. He sinks into the mattress more, hands curling into the dyed oriental blankets. He is ill. "You've done a very good work on helping me out. I appreciate it very much." Maybe he would slip up.

"It's nothing." Harpuia replies, and indeed, he firmly believes he deserves this. X's face shifts a little, and that strange expression become mixed up with something else. A kind of meaningful quiet. If truly feels like... "It just."

X's expression becomes cautious.

"It strikes me as... strange. That you act... so." He's already berating himself in his head, the words all coming out clunky and crass. He can't stop. For some reason, he has to know. "Are you... Even with everything you've achieved, you... are..." His face is red now. He's actually sweating. This is horrible and he regrets it. The look on X's face is the opposite of promising, the soft, sleepy lines replaced by something more alert. "Lonely?"

"Lonely?"

There is a silence between them. It feels like a very long time, though it probably only stretches on for a few seconds.

X has one of those new expressions of his, another surfacing emotion Harpuia hadn't had the privilege to see yet. It looks like he's distortedly nonchalant but there is something...

"Lonely. Alone. Secluded-"

"Ah, yes." X nods, and his eyes are anywhere but on his retainer now. "I understand. Well, I wouldn't really say that I'm lonely. After all, I have this entire Household looking up to me. And the clients, and the developers, and the other families."

"But this is bound within systems and rules and obligations. I'd say even your pen pals would be more appropriate-" Ah, of course. He has his penned contacts. He forgo-

"Then I have you."

He's stunned into silence. But I'm just a valet. You pay me to be here.

"You dug through the ground with me."

It was a bad idea. No person should have knelt there in the first place.

"I thought that is somewhat against the rules? But you did it for me anyways. I think you were looking out for me? Thank you so much." There is a content smile on X's face. It's cheated. He didn't really help him out of the goodness of his...

They keep staring at each other. The man in front of him is serene. Harpuia doesn't know what he looks like.

It looks like X is falling asleep. His eyes are drooping ever so slightly, soft lashes brushing against his cheeks. He seems comfortable at last, hands free and body cushioned gently to allow for a full night's rest. His brow smoothes out... he is at peace.

"..."

Maybe he should go.

"...No, you're right. I'm lying. I'm so lonely I could cry."

* * *

In my fragile state, I bother everyone around me to give me affection they are not obligated to offer me.

I buy them with money and expect them to adore me organically. Yet at the same time, I hide myself behind names and schemes and little side projects and I try to pretend that I'm different. That I'm not a major arms dealer. That I'm not continuously caving in under the demand of my obligations and expectations of my family. That I don't profit off the death of common folk.

I wish so badly that one day I could properly stand for the values I really believe in, but along the years, it's all gotten so complicated. I've had people I was close to, but we are now swamped by our own lives. I have large-scale investments that need to be carried out, people who need to be paid. Everyone is waiting for me to give the word. Everyone's hopes are riding on me, and I cannot disappoint them.

I'm so alone.

But when I was playing my games, you played along with me. You played even when it stopped being a game to me and I've come to truly consider you a dependable friend.

Thank you.

* * *

"It's becoming worse." X muses with a smile, the early morning light streaming in through the polished windows and illuminating the beautiful woodwork. It's pristine - had always been, now and 50 years ago. "I've gotten too good at the game. We are thriving like never before, and I can't help but to be nauseous when I think about it. It's too much - I've fallen into a decline at my residence, hiding away from the world."

Harpuia says nothing, blinking through the sand in his eyes as he slowly comes to. He's sprawled out on the thick of the white covers, back bent awkwardly as he's found hanging off of the chair. He remembers X talking to him, and remembers feeling an exceptional tiredness.

He'd fallen sleep on top of X's legs. His back is giving him hell for it.

Righting himself up painfully, Harpuia covers his eyes as dizziness overtakes him. X watches him with amusement, wrapped up in about five colors of covers, an open book in his hand.

"I'm sorry for tiring you out. It was a truly long-winded speech on my part."

"How much did I miss?" Harpuia asks, looking around the room quickly to discern any changes that might have happened while he was out. Aside from the book there aren't many. It seems to be ridiculously early.

"Just the ending."

They fall into a quiet, the gentle rustling of a turned page the only noise between them. There seems to be an awkwardness hanging in the air, but at the same time, it's so... lacking of stress.

"I'll make some tea."

"Thank you."

The cup is hot against his palms. He opens the windows, and returns to the bedside with the quiet chirp of birds following in his wake.

"When you don't have much." X chats amiably from his post. "You really don't care about the means to your ends. The most basic achievements are grand. Vast. Helping out those in your immediate vicinity, your community is the pinnacle of personal expression of your humanity. The things beyond that are distant. Unimportant."

There is a silence as he takes a sip to ease his aching throat, and then he continues.

"But there is a point where all those needs are met. You are providing hundreds, thousands of workers. You have influence over society and the fortune of more than two generations of technological pioneers at your disposal. And then you start thinking about what happen next."

"So what does happen next?" Harpuia asks.

"You want more than even that. It's how we are built as humans. You are going to be remembered by the society long after you're gone. The thing is, in what light?"

X sighs.

"I am such a fool. I can pass by my days lightly and happily, cocooned in wealth and might. I can safely live here and nourish little gardens. Write poems with my friends. Win the game. Compared to the working class working hard to get by, I am coddled. And yet, it's still not enough for me."

It's the war. He's saddened by the very roots of his enterprise. War is on his mind constantly. He used to think about it as a means for great profit, a necessary evil, a natural occurrence caused by power struggles of different groups. Even as a chance to strike out into the world and claim treasure. These are all true, after all, to a degree. He is the protector of his people in times of struggle. He keeps the powers of nations in balance.

He makes weapons that let the people shoot other human beings. They get shot, and then the internal damage claims their lives. The light in them is slowly extinguished as they pass on in a daze. Or maybe in pain? With shattered limbs? They no longer remain as individual beings with their thoughts and feelings and connections and potential.

They're just dead.

"I really wanted to shift to energy manufacturing." He's idly turning the pages of the book. "It could help everybody. A good call to the protection and economy of our nation. With an early enough investment, we might have even had monopoly." The gaze of twenty thousand nameless people lays on him. "What a mirage."

"Restructuring and building of new facilities... Experimental technology. Massive amounts of risk."

"Laying off the workers."

"I wonder... If we offered them to adapt to a new skill set and rehire them?"

"The change would upset them either way, including the massive shift on power in the gun industry."

"If you'd let me look at the parties in question, I could at least try to assess that with you, especially from the perspective of a military worker."

"Harpuia, you-" X is looking at him carefully. "Hypothetically. In such a situation. You would take me seriously?"

"I am your valet, head butler and accomplice." Harpuia deadpans. "You pay me to lead your household according to your wishes. Hypothetically. This would be an entire new facet to those directives, but It'd be a shame to my station not to think about it nonetheless. Plus," He looks right back at him. "This is but a scenario. One of our evenings - just in the morning."

This leaves his employer speechless, before he looks away, seemingly distraught.

"It doesn't seem... That outrageous to you? Spoiled? Disconnected from reality?"

"Just a play, isn't it? Plus, it sounds like an opportunity." He shrugs a little, and there is something bright in X's eyes. "You have shared your thoughts on the matter a few times before, and all."

* * *

It starts as little snippets and pieces. An idea here and there. The main system - Harpuia blinks at a wad of delicately penned letters in his arms - the space, size and capacity. Fueling sources, worker turnover, risks and opportunities, dangers and the choices of how to proceed with them. As spring blooms around them, bringing warmth and longer days, X too grows out of bed and begins to reestablish himself in his usual duties. The rest of the household works hard, the thawing sleepiness overtaken by the familiar set of seasonal activities. Wake up, wash, dress, check early proceedings, accompany, shave - his employer is glancing at him as he angles his jaw and brushes the foam off. Follow, discuss, switch with Phantom, discuss some more with the Head Maid. The step of his shined boots on lacquered floors leaves the maids whispering.

Then they jokingly make a timeline. As a joined practice for their real work, obviously.

* * *

Leviathan is looking at them both disapprovingly from the door.

"It's fine, there's no need to worry. I'll reply to the letters first thing in the morning." X waves at her with a disarming smile, quickly jotting down a set of math equations.

"You barely ate." She notes quietly, the scorn etched into the exaggerated wrinkles and creases on her face. She's putting on her best show. "And these flowers are all dead, yet as usual you don't let me touch them."

"They're all right." Harpuia mumbles from above his technical sketch. He rubs at his eyes and readjusts his glasses. "We're just covering this bit of terrain."

"It's supposed to be a little exercise. This isn't an exercise, you lia-"

X moves and he can't see his face, but then Levi huffs and puffs and relents, her brisk judging pace slowly fading away, leaving only the tired sighs and scratching of pens.

* * *

"The core technology here." X points carefully to the plan occupying half of his desk, his other hand curving into his moniker on a clean sheet of paper. "I know someone who might actually know how to fit in the components into this space."

Harpuia hovers above his shoulder to take a better look. "I thought we discarded this setup?"

"We did." X agrees, but then shifts over to give him a look. He's clearly got something on his mind. "But then I remembered an excerpt from one of my letters."

"Your penfriends?"

"I've got someone." He sounds so proud, tapping his finger against the blank space on the page. "Their ideas are sound. You have some of them in your office."

"Dealing with them would probably result in a split of shares. Due compensation..." Harpuia trails off as X breaks out into a smile. His brows furrow. "Are you okay?"

"It's okay." He reassures him, and his hand starts moving on the paper rapidly. "I am aware of the costs of involving others into our little project, I just don't find this inclusion to be a problem. If you so desire, we can obviously justify choosing something else. I just, have a good feeling."

"Well, if you insist."

The letter is sent, and as they wait for a reply, they weave on about the different sets of pages. Days pass, then weeks. The master busies himself with annuals, while Harpuia completes the cost sheets, and they are all enjoying a game of cards in the flower-fitted office with the rest of the house body when a knock makes them pause.

Phantom takes the news, before his eyebrows become drawn. He gestures at X, and the Master raises from his seat to join his side. Harpuia doesn't ever realize he's staring until Fefnir prods him very gently in the side and whispers. "It's a scoop."

* * *

Levi is looking at them from the gates.

"The ride is going to be quite long, but the reception is ready to take us in immediately afterwards." X assures him calmly, checking them both for their belongings with an authority that leaves no space for interruption.

A warm and sunny summer day - the moment he schedules for Harpuia to once again prove himself as a valet. Appointing him as his main assistant during a grand congress and all associated secondary events, a job so far reserved only for Phantom's quiet expertise. To Harpuia's lack of surprise, Leviathan stays behind on master duties - but he's unsure if she's not nervous, with how she observes them.

It seems that not only is he sent to establish himself in the field of public escorting, his help is actually absolutely necessary compared to the sheer magnitude of the event. The 'scoop' has turned out to be a meeting of the top brass of the industry, and what is meant to be decided there is a one in five to one in ten order. Five or ten years.

Feeling the warm breeze tug and ruffle at his clothes, the valet closes his eyes to relax. This is a stressful situation, but he's handled worse things before... he thinks. The person working the hardest will be X, and he seems appropriately mentally prepared. Harpuia is just there to make sure X and his cause are in top shape at all times.

At the same time, this 'easy' task is obviously going to get complicated.

There is a fire in X's eyes that wasn't there before. His movement seems more battle-ready. To his Master, the meeting isn't apparently terrifying or repulsive, not anymore. Instead, it seems like an opportunity he would seize all too gladly. A great match to someone who's game.

He's going to win this, and the others will try to stop him through varied means. The sum of money all too obviously calls for underhanded tactics.

This is where Phantom steps in. And, one day, but maybe starting today, where Harpuia himself will have to step up to protect his Employer at all cost.

Stepping into the carriage with the other men, Harpuia quietly endures the first few jerks at his body and condenses himself by the window.

* * *

The train station is packed, but there is an envoy waiting for them as they step out of the express. Harpuia nudges X along verbally as he takes his time admiring the architecture of the location, fearing pickpockets - still, nobody suspicious seems to appear, and they make it out of the building safely.

It is only at the founding mansion where Harpuia feels himself being stared at. Phantom doesn't turn, but the younger valet can't help but to readjust his coat, as if hot, and peek around at the groups of elegantly dressed men and their entourages. A young woman catches his stare and giggles, which causes him to settle back down before her husband or family do the same.

It's a whirlwind of festivities then - official greetings, tea, smoking, garden strolls. They are blissfully spared from any ball - it seems most gentlemen meant to leave their families behind and only indulge in the niceties for status' sake, and so X spends the evenings teaching Harpuia about each of the attending parties and their agenda.

For a time, they are swamped with attention, discussing X's supposedly celebrated reemergence onto the market. The man takes it in stride, figuratively dusting off his old contracts and assessing the situation like an upwards tactical challenge.

It is at this point, when the two of them are walking out of the meal hall, that they bump into the foreign lady again. And by that, Harpuia means literally - she creeps up behind them, and when he moves in to bid her a bit further, she slips next to him like a little fish and clings onto X's arm.

"It's good to see you again!" She quips, and for a second there, X looks very happy, which leaves Harpuia at a loss.

"I- Excuse me?"

"Oh, pardon me." The woman is of azure and rosy constitution, a long and complicated set of pale braids woven and strewn together over the blue of her overcoat. She looks Harpuia up and down, and her sunny disposition clouds for a second, as if it was her judging him and not vice versa.

Then it's gone, and she gives him a very gentle, reassuring smile. "It seems I've startled your bodyguard. It's ok! I'm not here to cause trouble." Though Harpuia is still dutifully suspicious.

X placates him though, soon enough. "The ones participating in contract acquisition are her family." His brow wrinkles with an unreadable look, but then he motions for them both to come along. "We have met here for a different, through somewhat related, purpose."

"And by that you mean?" Harpuia asks, hurrying along as they head down the hallways towards what appears to be one of the garden entrances.

The woman laughs. "I've compiled the plans for your engine here."

* * *

X knows so many people, Harpuia thinks to himself over the course of their stay. And, even if he doesn't, he meets them, because he is drawn, curious. The folk are equally drawn to his charm, he can see that too. X is worldly and widely adored, or simply respected.

Now, he is also unrelenting and demanding, cunning, ever on the advantage. He's inspiring, both in loyalty and apprehensiveness, standing confidently amidst the crowd of ridiculously powerful people. Supposedly shying away from the deals and leaving the opportunities to his closest acquaintances, he is now brimming with close authority over the outcome of the entire congress.

This is masterful. Either by fear, pity, or adoration, it really feels as if they're shifting the landscape of agreements. Though Phantom looks on neutrally, Harpuia tries not to be stunned by this might. This is a man he calls both a friend and an employer.

They dine, and chat, and present themselves, and when Harpuia shaves X in the mornings, or dresses him, or gives him advice on the coffee brews, or stays near whenever they are in the open, he feels a tangible sense of wonder. It's quite incredible that X exists, he thinks.

Then reality kicks in, like it always does.

It's the penultimate day, just before everyone raises their guard to leave. The time of celebrating the wins and forgetting the losses. When the security staff are ever-vigilant, but tired or lulled by the prospect of ending their watch.

For someone of X's caliber, it's a time when their life is in realistically mortal danger.

* * *

It must've been his energy that threatened his opposition. A sleeping giant waking up on the scene and shoving everyone aside, a perceived power shift that made someone very dissatisfied.

Harpuia looks down at the ground at his feet. It's sticky and wet.

When he saw the gunman, it's as if he'd been granted flight. It's honestly relieving, in a weird way. All this time, he was constantly doubting and criticizing himself over what to do to be the most effective at escorting.

The two bullet wounds are numbing him. They have gone somewhere into his body, and the entire square around them is filled with the uproar of panicking upperclassmen. They flee like startled animals, and as he feels two pairs of arms grab a hold of him, he sees the man with the pistol sidelined by a crimson-jacketed blur that was one of the attending officers.

It's strange to see Phantom and X both make those ruffled expressions. One pair of arms gives and then it's just the dirt and the blood and the terrified whispers above his head.

* * *

Don't cross that line, says his officer.

It's not really a tangible line. He's just standing there with the mist and his comrades. They are doing their morning drills. Don't cross that line, says the Sergeant, and so they don't. They stand on the road, and stare at the field numbly, letting the mist condense on their bodies.

But he is, despite everything, still drawn to it.

Harpuia lets the officer pass him by during his inspection, and then lifts his boot out of the mud to take a step forward. The ground is sticky. His foot squelches as he sinks it into a wet patch of grass. He didn't cross the line yet, he thinks, since it's a concept, not a physical entity.

...

He crosses the line.

It makes him fall. He wonders if he'll die.

* * *

He's not dead.

Grunting in pain, he tries not to throw up. He can't see, and he can't move. He's wet - eagle spread on a mattress - ah. Of course.

He's been patched up somewhere, and is not, as of yet, dead. That's fantastic. Paralyzed, traumatized, but gladly able to still breathe, he draws in breath and tries not to think about his state.

He analyzes the details instead, however much he remembers. He's indignant at himself for a while for taking grievous bodily harm so casually, disregarding personal integrity. What did he think would happen exactly? He should be glad he's still alive, though he knows nothing of the intricacies of his condition.

At least. It seems that the perpetrator was apprehended. So he won't be shooting at his employer again.

Harpuia then breathes again, and falls into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

There is someone in the room with him.

The warm hands over his clammy ones are soft and firm. The sensation of someone shifting him around sends ripples down his stomach, and he hisses.

"Ah."

"It's okay." He's dizzy, disoriented by the new position. His hands twitch and slowly arc towards his face to keep the wet towel from falling off, but then the towel is held firmly against his forehead and eyes.

He's looking for something to say, anything at all, but then the bottom of his face is obscured in a wet and slimy sensation. His brows furrow as he feels the alternating pressure of... a kiss, is that right? Why would anyone be kissing him?

His mouth is so dry. He's not sure why, but he is tired and the tongue in his mouth is wet, so he just takes a deep breath through his nose and lets the... who... ah, he's not going to bother.

It's so soft.

A hand tightens around his jaw and draws him back, still blinded. He dimly recognizes the hands, but ignores them as his mouth is throughoutly explored, leaving him warmed and slightly less parched. He's just breathing. His belly heats up and stings, so he reaches down to gently pet at the injuries and realizes that the other bullet must've evidently travelled through one of his arms.

Getting used to the slimy sensation, he presses carefully at the tongue with his own - it retracts, and he licks his lips awkwardly and opens his mouth to say something - no success, as he once again gets a mouthful of a kiss.

It lasts a while. He's not sure how long, but minutes for sure. His lips get bitten. They get tugged around. He becomes irritated, so he starts kissing back, grabbing at those even hands tightly and pulling them away from his jaw.

Then, it's over - the person drags the towel over his jaw to neaten him up, and looks him up and down before telling him he almost bled to death and required an operation.

"I can feel that."

"You're fired."

Harpuia looks at X, and through his blurry gaze sees the man weary and exhausted.

"...Excuse me?"

"I hereby dissolve our contract at the grounds of putting you in danger of death or bodily peril, and then having you wounded." His Employer points to a paper at what appears to be his bedside table, and as Harpuia blinks numbly, he sees the black curvature of his full name.

He is... unsurprised.

"I can imagine you would feel pressured to work again for some time as my associate, if at all." X continues neutrally. "I have covered all of your medical bills and expenses, including the hospital stay and I will pay you a wage during your recovery."

He's so official.

"Afterwards-"

"You kissed me."

X stops, as if he was surprised by the intimate act he himself instigated just a while earlier. "That. If anything, that just showcases the lack of conduct which has intensified in our recent mishaps. If you consider-"

"Pressuring me in my state of disarray makes this moot and you know it, X."

The man's brow takes on an uncharacteristically ugly bend. "Yes, but any more time in my company exposes you to danger, and I cannot agree with this. Our shared project..."

X is lying in his face to protect him, and Harpuia is tired.

"X."

He is given a minute acknowledgment, but then the man looks ready to give him another selfish monologue and you know what? He actually preferred it when he kissed him instead.

"How long have you been here?"

He doesn't get an answer. He looks around the room for personal belongings, and when he tries to shift around on the bed his self-proclaimed billionaire ex-employer rushes over to scold him and reprimand him on the organic nature of his trauma.

Harpuia looks at X closely, and then reaches up against all protests to put his hand on the man's face. The unshaved shadow bites into his numb fingers, and X becomes defiantly embarrassed.

"I want to spend time with you." Harpuia says calmly. "It changes me for the better."

"I can forward you to Ciel and Zero-"

"Master X." Harpuia is leaning in. "I want to spend time with you, because I am selfish."

He kisses the man. Then, he kisses him again, and then, he kisses him _again_. His wounds are but a mere distraction - truthfully, a severe distraction - but it seems he's been shying away for so long, it only seems appropriate to act onto his desires.

Regardless whether he signs or not, this feels... different. This relationship. They may part ways, or stop being friends, or do none of those things. It is only appropriate that when expecting an outcome like this, he...

He's not sure whether to be fast or slow this time, and X wrestles control to gently explore his mouth. His sight slowly blurs as he lets his eyes close, lashes soft against his cheeks.

To the surprise of neither, it is X who is intent on giving and cuing him in from that point onward. He's not sure how much time passes, but eventually, it doesn't matter. X seems to have taken a great liking to his face at some point, and he is pampered until he is completely exhausted.

* * *

Recovery takes him roughly 6 months.

Sitting quietly by the working table, Harpuia lets the noise of the city lull him into his work. It's no birdsong, but it does its job.

The mapping takes most of his days in the city apartment, which is just fine by him. Investment banks are otherwise near, and he is allowed the rare luxury of regularly participating in the stock market, or educate himself in the local libraries. The only problem he'd have with the location is that it smells bad, which in turn raises the question of smog intensity and effect that he explores in his spare time.

It's honestly just another good sign for the business, then.

He was obviously fired from his position - selfish as he was, there is nothing you can do once the second leading gun manufacturer in the country sets his mind to opposing you. After the incident, X has personally helped tend to him for the full duration of his hospital stay, including the time he spent in and out of a coma, and adamantly refused to leave his side. Some of the employees and quittances of his had made sure to visit, hoping for his safe return, but by the end of things X was just as determined to turn him away as he was determined to kiss him goodnight each evening.

With nothing old to look forward to, the ex-valet had taken his time away from work setting up an inexpensive living space, and now there he is, earning a wage working with contractors and collecting dividends.

There is a certain compromise in place, though.

While he was unofficially banned from work for the foreseeable future, there was nothing forbidding the other side from visiting _him_ instead.

X takes the time to hover behind his shoulder, coffee in one hand and a daily in the other. He sets them down next to his letter-making materials on the table corner so he can pester his lover with some affection, and then they both sit down to work.

.

END

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So yeah basically the story is set loosely in the Edwardian/Victorian/Second Industrial Revolution timewarp. It follows Harpuia (Real name undecided) who works for X (real name undecided but let's be real there is just one name that starts with X as far as I know), a son of a prestigious weapon-manufacturing family with a very soft spot for helping the people under his influence, furthering science, and crushing his opposition (but he is very lonely and depressed so he retreated into his manors).
> 
> Harpuia is a clean-cut fit for the job, however things become more complicated and awkward as he is faced with the unorthodox rules within the manor which make things more personal than he'd like. Soon though, he ends up wrapped right into them, all the while being a dummy oblivious dude in denial. Meanwhile, X swears that said rules, which encourage the stepping over all social boundaries expected in a house of that era are just his social plan to maximize loyalty and effectiveness, but tbh he is a lying baby and he is just cripplingly lonely, depressed, and has an existential crisis.
> 
> So anyways they live in denial for a while all the while actually slowly acting up on their hidden, or not so hidden, desires, but because they are taking some 20 pages I include a vaguely realistic assassination plot to get them to emergency make-out and reorganize their lives in a more yolo manner. Harpuia is released from his job so I can wonder if this truly is a master-servant fic or not, and then they both get rich on the rapidly growing electricity market which isn't based on murder and subjugation so their future is bountiful. The end.
> 
> Also, I didn't spell out the feelings of everyone in every situation on purpose, so if you're confused or curious you can ask me if I still remember.
> 
> Anyways, I'm sorry writing this took 8 months (does it even mesh well?) and I shrank the congress part and kinda rushed to the ending. Now that this story is over, there is nothing preventing me to write some omakes in the future maybe, or new content. Cheers!


End file.
